


Murder Most Sinister

by ladyoftintagel



Category: Band Sinister - K. J. Charles
Genre: Disgruntled Servants, Fledgling OT4, M/M, Multi, Murder Mystery, Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28100340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoftintagel/pseuds/ladyoftintagel
Summary: The gang throw Amanda a murder mystery birthday party.
Relationships: Guy Frisby/Philip Rookwood, Lord Corvin/Guy Frisby/John Raven/Philip Rookwood
Comments: 22
Kudos: 51
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Murder Most Sinister

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marina/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, dear reader! :)

_The Duke sat sprawled in an ornately carved wooden chair, the worn green velvet upholstery exuding an air of decaying opulence. The flickering fireplace cast his handsome profile into shadow, his long, elegant fingers steepled under his chin as he gazed into the flames. Darkness clung to him like a shroud._

_"Where is Merriman?" he hissed. "He should have been here hours ago."_

_Sir William Tewkwood, the Duke’s oldest and most loyal companion, shrugged with his usual casual indifference and continued to clean under his nails with a jewel-encrusted dagger. "He'll be here."_

_As if summoned by their will, the doors to the study suddenly flew open to reveal the trembling figure of Merriman Weeks, his delicate frame straining under the weight of an ancient-looking wooden chest._

_With a dramatic swirl of his midnight-black cloak, the Duke leapt to his feet. A fanatical light gleamed in the depths of his inky orbs._

_"My Lord," wheezed Merriman, "I have travelled far and long, ventured into the veritable bowels of the earth to bring you this most awesome artefact…one that holds the mysteries of the universe and the power over life and death."_

_Hands shaking with anticipation, the Duke lifted back the lid of the chest to reveal a large grey rock riddled with veins of some iridescent, otherworldly material. He sucked in a shaky breath. This was no ordinary stone…_

Philip snorted with laughter, flipping to the next page. Others might take offence, but it was truly a delight to see himself and his circle of friends parodied in such a splendidly ridiculous fashion. And beneath the surface veneer of frivolous melodrama, the text was littered with clever little nods to the real-life inspirations behind the characters, which was diverting to no end.

"I had no idea that the business of extracting beet sugar was so entertaining. I may have to revise my position on the matter."

Philip looked up, startled, to find Corvin lounging elegantly against the door to his office, one eyebrow raised in amusement. He grinned and beckoned his friend inside.

“I’m afraid I have nothing to titillate in the way of beet-related matters, but Miss Frisby - nay, Mrs. Martelo - did give me a preview of her latest story to look over. it’s quite something. Sherry even makes a guest appearance as a snivelling archaeologist. You seem to have no end of simpering toadies to choose from."

Corvin slid away from the door with a chuckle, making a beeline for the brandy on the sideboard.

“As it should be. But it all does sound very droll. I'm sure Sherry will be thrilled to bits, especially if it involves his beloved rocks."

"Would you like to borrow it when I'm done?"

"Heavens no. I will eagerly await the finished product so I can fully immerse myself in my new villainous namesake's many and undoubtedly foul misdeeds."

"As you wish."

Corvin slid a tumbler over to Philip and sank into the chair opposite.

"Speaking of the fair Mrs. Martelo, I understand from the dear doctor that her birthday is not far off."

"Oh?" Philip took a sip of brandy, savouring the taste of the amber liquid. "I sense you have something up your sleeve."

Corvin smirked. "Indeed. Although I must give credit where credit is due. It was John's idea, really. I just ran with it."

“As you are wont to do.”

“Quite. Remember that time with the forty-year-old scotch and Lady Wynhall’s pet mongoose?”

“How could I forget. That one went somewhat outside the scope of the original plan.”

“Indeed. But it was so very amusing.”

“Perhaps, but this time can we avoid any mishaps involving exotic animals?”

“No promises.”

***************

Philip ran the idea past Guy later that evening when the two of them were relaxing together after dinner.

“A murder mystery?”

Guy lifted his head from where it had been pillowed in Philip’s lap. He looked adorably baffled.

“Fear not, darling, it’s one of Corvin’s tamer undertakings,” Philip reassured him, massaging his fingers through Guy’s hair in comforting circles. “It will be great fun. It’s like a theatrical piece, but it’s also a puzzle for Amanda to solve. We’ll play different characters, stage a murder scene, and she’ll have to question everybody and discover who the guilty party is. Seems like exactly the kind of thing she would enjoy.”

“As if her imagination isn’t already completely overstimulated,” grumbled Guy, but the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth gave him away. “I’m sure she’ll love it. Provided we’re not _actually_ murdering anyone.”

“Only Cornelius.”

“Oh, well in that case. The usual suspects will be in attendance?”

“Everyone’s keen, and this time Isabelle and Marianne will be in town as well.”

Guy’s face lit up at the mention of the Murder’s lady members. “Oh, splendid! It will be good for Mandy to have some female companionship instead of hanging about with you disreputable rogues all the time.”

Philip pulled Guy up and into his lap, toying with the buttons on his shirt. “Disreputable rogues, are we? Well then. Just how disreputable are we talking about?”

***************

Preparations for the grand soirée began in earnest at Corvin’s townhouse, a locale often denounced in the society pages as a notorious den of sin and corruption (and therefore to be avoided by all but the most degenerate of persons). 

It both amused and irritated Philip how Corvin seemed to actively feed the flames of gossip and rumour – it would not surprise him in the least if it was Corvin himself leaking scandalous and outrageous tidbits to the press.

And he was very serious about cultivating his image. Philip once had to dissuade him from commissioning custom gargoyles made in each of their likenesses to adorn the front of the house. And then, of course, there had been about a month’s stretch of time where he had required everyone entering his abode to wear masks and giant billowing cloaks (just to stir up more speculation about the alleged satanic rituals that took place inside). The man was incorrigible.

But those who were privileged enough to pass through Corvin’s doors knew that they were part of something special (and only vaguely sinister when it suited).

Corvin had conscripted the valets into service as extra players, with predictable results - Sinclair, with his penchant for all things dramatic, was over the moon at the prospect of participating in the murder tableau.

Philip was watching his valet going through the motions of fainting onto a chaise-lounge, wailing hysterically, when John ambled up to his side.

“If this were the theatre, I’d be ready to throw some rotten vegetables in his general direction right now,” John muttered, resting his chin on Philip’s shoulder. “Please tell me his dialogue is limited and succinct.” 

“Oh, let him be. Who are we to stand in the way of his dream to tread the boards?”

“If only we could incite such a rousing performance from Cornelius.”

“Not bloody likely. There’s a reason he’s been cast as the murder victim.”

As if sensing they were talking about him, Cornelius swiveled his gaze to rest on John and Philip. He then coughed, deliberately, to signal his growing displeasure at having to lie on the floor in such an undignified way.

“Cornelius!” Corvin shouted from where he was rummaging through a box of costumes with Guy. “Dead men don’t cough!”

Cornelius fixed his master with a glare that clearly read _you do not pay me enough for this_.

“ _Ars longa, vita brevis_ , my friend. Make it a performance for the ages.”

Cornelius merely coughed his most long-suffering of coughs.

Philip’s gaze was drawn back to Guy, who was happily modeling a selection on silly hats that Corvin had for just such occasions. It made Philip so very glad to see Guy becoming increasingly confident in the company of his dearest and most intimate friends, even offering up the occasional tentative flirtation. Which was, of course, adorable. 

Guy was admiring his reflection in a plumed bicorne when Corvin swiped it clean off his head and replaced it with a lady’s frilly bonnet. This resulted in a good-humoured shoving match, of which Corvin was declared the winner when Guy, blinded by a profusion of ostrich feathers, tripped over Cornelius’s prone form and went tumbling to the floor.

Once the laughter had died down (and Cornelius had been suitably pacified), Corvin helped Guy to his feet and made quite the show of brushing off his coat. Guy was a little flushed by the time Corvin had finished his ministrations, and Corvin winked at Philip over Guy’s shoulder.

Philip had the sense that there might be more than one game afoot tonight. He grinned to himself.

***************

Corvin had spared no expense for Amanda’s birthday festivities. Philip was admiring a carefully constructed pyramid of champagne glasses when the man himself swanned into the room, resplendent in evening wear.

“Do you like my masterpiece? Nothing but the best for our most cherished authoress, of course.”

“Of course, V. You are the most generous of evil overlords. And I daresay the handsomest?”

“Why thank you, dear heart. And you clean up rather nicely for an underling. Champagne?”

“Dare we disturb such a creation?”

“Nothing ventured.”

Their pursuit of champagne was interrupted by the arrival of their guest of honour, Amanda, looking exquisite in a pale blue evening gown. She was escorted into the room by her adoring husband and looked positively radiant with happiness.

“I cannot thank you all enough for this,” she said with feeling, kissing Philip on the cheek. “It’s too much.”

“You’re one of us now, darling, and there’s no escaping.”

“But do not thank us just yet,” interjected John as he bent down to kiss her hand. “The night is young, and anything could happen.”

Amanda laughed merrily and turned to greet the Street-Salcombes, who had just arrived. Soon the room was buzzing with the laughter and chatter of all their friends, and Philip couldn’t remember the last time he felt this contented. Guy appeared at his elbow with two glasses of champagne and a beautiful smile, which only added to the perfection.

"A toast!" cried Corvin, raising his glass. "A toast to the fairest and loveliest lady to come crashing, quite literally, into our lives. And we are all the richer for it. To Amanda Martelo!"

“Speech!” shouted Sherry, and soon everyone was stamping their feet in encouragement.

“Well,” said Amanda, beaming from ear to ear. “All I can say is that a broken femur is a small price to pay to be among such splendid company.”

This was met with a roar of approval from all present, and Corvin began to wave everyone into the dining room, where a sumptuous feast awaited.

Over several courses of excellent food, the conversation and (copious amounts of) liquor flowed freely. Amanda and the ladies were giggling together conspiratorially, John and Guy were laughing heartily about something or the other, the latter practically crying from mirth, and Corvin was presiding over the whole scene with an air of supreme satisfaction.

At one point, Sherry jumped up on his chair and started orating passionately about something to do with the stratigraphic column and diluvial deposits, stopping only when Harry tempted him back down to the table with a second helping of whatever divine chocolate-filled creation was being served for dessert (to the great relief of all).

As the pudding course was winding down, David excused himself discretely, which was the signal for things to get underway.

"She won't really think Cornelius is dead, will she?" whispered Harry, who was seated to his right. “Dreadful thing to get such a fright on one’s birthday.”

Philip patted his arm reassuringly.

"Worry not, my friend. David has told her to expect a surprise and that things are not what they seem."

Harry seemed mollified and turned back to his plate.

Several moments later, David burst back into the room, slamming the doors for maximum dramatic effect. The room fell silent. The candles on the sideboard guttered briefly from the draught. Philip smothered a grin in his sleeve.

“What misfortune has befallen us!” David howled, clutching at his hair. Philip was impressed – who knew the doctor could muster such a performance! “Such grave misfortune!”

Corvin leapt to his feet, sending his chair tumbling backwards.

“I say, man, control yourself! Of what do you speak?”

“ _Murder.”_

Everyone gasped on cue. Philip snuck a look at Amanda, and her expression was one of dawning anticipation. _Good._

“Speak plainly, doctor. What has occurred?”

David turned into the doorway and beckoned behind him. Sinclair entered, wringing his hands in despair.

“It’s Theophilus, sir. Your loyal manservant. He’s dead.”

“Dead? How?”

This drew fresh howls from Sinclair who fell to his knees, sobbing and clutching at David’s legs.

“This is the question we must ask,” said David, placing a steadying hand on a side table as Sinclair continued to grovel at his feet. “And for an answer, we must, of course, turn to the renowned detective, Mrs. Amanda Martelo, to solve the crime. Will you help us, dear lady?”

***************

“I think it’s all going rather swimmingly,” said John, sizing up the contents of the liquor cabinet. He, Corvin, Philip, and Guy had been stashed away in the billiards room to await their turn for ‘questioning’. “Although this hat is giving me a headache.”

“I wanted to be Rear Admiral Balfour-Bannerman,” pouted Guy. “Trade?”

John adjusted the large plumed bicorne. “Not a chance. Besides, _Mr. Bennett Castleton, noted Cambridge scholar_ , those robes really do suit you better than anyone.”

Guy looked mournfully at his reflection. “I look like an overgrown choirboy.”

Philip came over and kissed him on the cheek. “You always look splendid, robed or…unrobed.”

John rolled his eyes good-naturedly as Corvin came around and topped up everyone’s drink.

“The real question,” said Corvin, waving his hand at the billiards table, “is whether _Mr. Bennett Castleton, noted Cambridge scholar_ knows how to play.”

“Er, a little.”

“Shameful. We must remedy this gap in your education, mustn’t we, boys? For authenticity’s sake.”

There were nods all around. Philip steered Guy over to the table, catching Corvin’s eye. Corvin smirked knowingly.

“Perhaps we could dispense with the robes for the moment, seeing as though they impede one’s movement?”

“Excellent idea,” agreed Philip, sidling up behind Guy and sliding the voluminous fabric off of his shoulders. “Perhaps the jacket as well?”

This time it was John who came up and helped Guy ease his arms out of the sleeves. Guy gulped, a flush creeping up his neck.

“Proper form and posture are essential.”

Corvin handed Guy a cue, and Guy turned it over in his hands.

“Will this do?” he asked, hunching over in a comically bad attempt at positioning himself at the table.

“May I suggest a slight modification to your stance?”

Philip heard the question layered beneath the question and so did Guy, who seemed unable to tear his gaze away from John’s loosened cravat. When he finally did, his eyes flicked to Philip. Another question.

Philip’s heart was brimming full with all the things he’d been longing for, and he simply smiled in response.

“Yes,” said Guy, a slight tremor in his voice. He cleared his throat and then spoke with growing confidence. “Yes, I believe I do have rather a weak grasp of the game. Any tutelage you can provide would be most beneficial.”

John smirked, his eyes gleaming wickedly in anticipation as he stepped into Guy’s space.

“Wonderful. Let’s start right away, shall we?”

And then Corvin was there, too, with a gleam in his eye to match John’s.

“Now, now, my friend, let’s not be hasty. Surely our student could benefit from…multiple perspectives? What do you think, Philip?”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

And with that, the four men suddenly found themselves standing close together, breathing each other’s air, feeling that glorious crackle of electricity as their arms brushed. Guy smiled shyly, meeting each of their eyes in turn, and Philip felt that wonderful sensation of being on the precipice of something thrilling, new, even a bit dangerous. How far they had come from those early days of their acquaintance. 

They were so absorbed in the raw energy of the moment that they almost didn’t hear the footsteps and voices carrying down the hall. Corvin cursed under his breath and laughed, breaking the spell.

“Best resume billiards lessons later, lads, lest we give substance to some of the more... _colourful_ rumours about this place.”

They slid hastily apart, the spark tamped down to a smoulder (to be rekindled later). Returned to whisky glasses, robes, and giant hats as Amanda strode into the room, trailed by an enthusiastic Sinclair.

“So!” she declared imperiously, having clearly imbibed several more glasses of wine in the interval. “Which of you miscreants wishes to confess your sins first?”


End file.
